To The Inevitable Dusk
by let-the-eli-in
Summary: They are brothers in every way but blood. A collection of snapshots chronicling the most singluar of siblings - Mycroft, Sherlock, and John Holmes.
1. A New Arrival

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The Holmes family was measured by the father's height - Mycroft at his shoulder, Mother at his chest, and young Sherlock at his hip. But this little boy had barely managed to reach Sherringford's knees.

When the brothers first were told that a little brother would be substituting for their Christmas gifts, Sherlock's reaction was by far the more animated one. Immediately he began to conjure up all sorts of experiments that required a living subject, and with elated joy considered the prospect of being able to play a deduction game without losing to Mycroft. His spirits were only dampened when told it was a matter to keep rather silent about.

Mycroft, however, could not say that he was happy. He did not want to say much of anything regarding the present circumstances - the child would be a disruption of comfortable, well-established habits. He certainly would not be the one to comfort it when nightmares came a-knocking, as he knew they would.

When the day arrived Violet dressed her sons in the Sunday attire they had never found an occasion to wear. As expected (and dreaded) Sherlock tore a hole in his trousers his first trip down the stairwell, and Mycroft made a number of comments on the idiocy of dressing flamboyantly when the new family member was likely to look as though it was fetched from the Thames. Their mother wasn't as fussy as she was usually wont to be, merely ecstatic, seemingly beyond the edges of good manners and sanity.

There was a knock, and their reactions were almost comical. Sherlock let out something similar to a puppy's yelp, Violet squealed, and Mycroft growled rather inaudibly. Any callers might have thought they were happening upon an excitable kennel of dogs.

Sherringford let himself in, too eager to wait for his wife to bid him entry. His face was alight and flushed with something that Violet had seen on two occasions previously.

"Everyone," he said in a loud, happy voice, drawing a little, pale boy from behind his legs. "I'd like you to meet John _Holmes_."


	2. Meal Times

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Getting poor John to each much of anything in those first few days was a candle taken up by all but Mycroft. At mealtimes they would confront the boy individually, not wishing to overwhelm him - though Sherlock had harbored a splendid plan for tying his new brother to the dining chair and letting his new contraption show him just how desirable food was.

As nervous as if John was a newborn babe of their own flesh and blood, his reluctance to eat made Sherringford and Violet worry to some great extent. Sherringford was not quite so vocal about it, but nevertheless considered himself a little more clever than usual when he left his supper unfinished and placed the plate several inches closer to the boy. Never mind that it went untouched.

Despite his disinterest, Mycroft was ultimately the one to offer sustenance, albeit inadvertently. He had a hearty appetite, no one would deny that, and the unexpected stress of a new brother made his stomach even more eager to consume. John soon learned that he could not go hungry forever, but that he was likely to if Mycroft continued such eating habits. Thus John learned it was best to get to the dinner table a few minutes before him, and kindly ask his parents if he could start a little early. They were so thrilled at the prospect of his eating that they did not object, and for a good week John sustained himself so until Mycroft settled back into a more regulated style of dining.


	3. Scuffles

_**

* * *

To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The Holmes family was surrounded by the most undesirable neighbors well-bred society had ever produced, and rumors began not as soon as Violet indulged a fancy and bid John to walk with her in the garden.

Suspicion was thrown immediately upon Sherringford. You never could trust the family men, after all, for they invariably would seek to expand their brood through rather improper venues. Besides, the man was rarely home, and everyone who exchanged greetings with him knew that his hands were far too soft for him to be toiling away at manual labor. Soon it was the opinion of all that Mr. Holmes had been unable to restrain himself some years back and now felt an obligation to bring the sandy-haired child into the folds of his dark-locked family.

Sherringford paid little attention to such nonsense. His neighbors were ignorant of the fact that a lawyer rarely gets anything on his hands other than ink and harsh words. He had made a point of not associating with them because of their gossiping stupidity. He was quite content to entirely ignore the comments until one placid afternoon he opened the door, intending to journey to his club, to find his two youngest boys looking horribly roughed up. Sherlock was sporting a split lip and John had taken to favoring his left leg.

"We can explain," Sherlock practically shouted.


	4. A Sense Of Justice

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Sherringford forced himself to wrap John's twisted ankle with every pretence of patience, having already tended to Sherlock's bleeding lip and now listening to the boy's forcibly whispered voice.

"Will and Toby ganged up on John," Sherlock said quietly so as not to alert their mother. His voice was steady, but Sherringford could discern the tightly reigned tones of anger. "Called him something vulgar. Then they said you and him were scum. He told them it wasn't true, but they said that's what their mother told them, and that their mothers were always right."

"They won't still be saying that after a few years," Mr. Holmes said darkly. "Continue, Sherlock."

"So I told them to shove off, and that's when they jumped us." At once the boy's face lit up in a glow of pride. "Will thought he was going to choke me, but John sent him flying!"

Sherringford struggled visibly to conceal a smile. "I suppose you disobeyed me then when I told you not to give him boxing lessons?" Sherlock seemed rather sheepish, but certainly not remorseful. Sherringford was glad for that.

The man finished up with the wrapping of John's ankle, ruffling the boy's hair. "There you go. Sherlock, help him up the stairs, then come back. I need to speak with you."

Sherlock did as he was told, only now showing something of regret at his actions, faced with the possibility of punishment. After seeing his brother to their room he bounded to his father's side, only to receive a soft clap on the back that he had not been expecting at all.

"Sherlock, I am proud of you. You gave those boys their just reward."


	5. Research

_**

* * *

To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

John's Scottish burr was a source of great amusement to Sherlock. For the life of him he couldn't understand why his brother had such a strange way of speaking, and would spend hours upon hours forcing him to say different phrases. Sherlock insisted this was for research, and even went to the trouble of trying to write down the variables in John's speech. When he found that he could not manage to do it to his own satisfaction, however, Sherlock bestowed the task upon his rather unwilling sibling.

Mycroft was not so entertained. He eagerly anticipated the day when English inflections would enter his adopted brother's dialogue. He'd grown a trifle tired of the curious looks when the otherwise quiet child would address his new parents in public. This whole business was really becoming very bothersome.

"Come now, you must say. Say it, John!"

"Bloody hell…?"

There was a peal of laughter, and Mycroft realized that things had already been bothersome for nearly ten years.


	6. In The Dark Of The Night

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Sherringford reached for his wife's hand in the darkness of their bedroom, and was pleased to feel her fingers curl tightly around his own. It had been a most trying day for the both of them, and yet happiness was to be found in this simple act of loving proximity.

The feeling of isolation from all that could have upset them, however, was shattered by the shaft of hall light that edged into their room. Sherringford wearily sat up, expecting to see the diminutive frame of John inside the doorway. However, the actual shadow there was at least a head taller.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

As he shuffled towards his parents the boy looked even younger than his nine-and-three-quarter years. His cheeks were flushed with emotion, and silently he crawled in between his mother and father. Violet started, but relaxed as her son found his ways into her arms. Sherringford leaned over to take in the sight, too concerned to find it picturesque.

"I had a nightmare," Sherlock mumbled tersely, burying himself in the snowy white skin of his protection from further horrors.

His father's brows knotted into a single line, and the wrinkles of concern that had developed over the past few years deepened considerably. "Mind telling us what about?"

The boy hesitated for a long moment. "John told me something." As if in reaction to the statement Sherlock tightened an arm around his mother, while using the other to search out his father, afraid to let either of them go.

Violet and Sherringford exchanged a knowing glance before huddling close to their son, bidding goodnight to him when he had already let fear drag him into slumber.


	7. Names

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

"What's your middle name?"

John squirmed at Sherlock's inquiry, and thought of raising an objection. He had learned his middle name was not quite a common one in the great land of England. But he had also disovered long ago that you could not refuse to answer a question from Sherlock Holmes if you expected to keep all of either your teeth or sanity.

"Hamish."

He had expected a riot of laughter or the like, but Sherlock seemed rather calm concerning the new discovery.

"And your last?"

John looked at his brother incredulously, trying to discern his meaning. "Holmes."

Sherlock appeared as though he was about to smile, so endearing was his sibling's response. But he shook his head. "Your other one."

For what seemed like a moment too long John neglected the question, before at least revealing the information his brother's eyes seemed so intent on obtaining. "Watson."

Sherlock wished he could allow himself a grimace in John's presence. The name just didn't seem to fit. The Holmes family name, he felt, was better suited to his pale, blonde brother. Without elaborating on his intentions, Sherlock left his sibling at the table, disappearing into the kitchen to presumably assist his mother with breakfast. He returned rather quickly, a plate of freshly cooked ham in his hands.

"Here," he said rather morosely, sliding the dish over to John. He managed to smile at the boy's look of indignation. "Thought you might like that," he commented slyly before turning to go to Mycroft's study.


	8. Contentment

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The answer was a firm no, and while Sherlock had no reason to expect a different response, he still endeavored to sway his brother's rather unshakeable opinion.

"Mycroft," the boy said, not caring for the pleading tones in his voice. They had always gotten him quite far when in dealings with his parents. "I only wish-"

"I know what your intentions are, Sherlock," Mycroft interjected, not looking up from his papers. "and I am under the impression that they are not good ones."

Sherlock had the decency to look affronted, and opened his mouth in protest. His brother waved his defenses to the side, however.

"I know it is bothering you. But he is not a puzzle, Sherlock. If he wishes to disclose his past to you he will do it on his own terms. That being said, if you still decide to encroach upon his business you must find your owns means of doing so. I will not help you."

Sherlock stormed wildly out of the study, mumbling curses that would have made their mother red with anger. Mycroft watched his brother go, dearly wishing the child would be content to be one at all.


	9. Deduction Games

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

John stared intently out the window, discerning every possibility of career regarding the ordinary man making his way down their street. He could not think of one likely observation, and despite his keen gaze he could form no opinions. But he would not tell that to Mycroft, who was sitting just behind him with presumably a smug look on his face. No, John would rather stand at that window until blindness threatened him before giving his brother the satisfaction of victory.

"He is a… businessman," John said at last, hoping he did not sound as uncertain as he felt. "He hasn't done very well lately, and… he wants to make much more money than he is now."

Mycroft patted his large stomach, quivering with what John suspected was laughter. "A generalization of people in such a trade, John." Contrary to his wishes the young man stood up and peered out the window, towering over his little brother. "In this case, he is not a businessman at all. I would wager that he is an actor, a compulsive gambler, and a man whose wife has not allowed him to sleep in his own bed for about a month."

John looked at Mycroft, then at their quarry, and again at Mycroft, though the second glance had been dissolved into a pout.

"I'm going to find Sherlock," he growled on his way out of his elder brother's room.

"Don't expect to have an easier time of it."


	10. Playing Doctor

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

"What do you want me to do about it?"

The azalea bushes made for an odd sort of field hospital. Sherlock and John were curled up within them, ignoring the numerous branches poking into their backs in light of more painful matters - Sherlock's hand was beginning to swell dreadfully, and he was having a mighty time not scratching it.

"I don't know! Just do _something _- Mother will flay me if she finds out."

"You sort of brought this upon yourself, you know…"

"How was I to know the blasted things were poisonous?"

"I do believe that's why Father keeps a botany encyclopedia."

"I haven't got time to - agh! John!"

The boy smiled as he took his brother's hand, but the expression fell after a moment. "I really don't know what to do, Sherlock. We're going to _have_ to show Mother," he said with as much sympathy as he could muster.

Sherlock hissed, cradling his hand as though he had been mortally wounded. "I do hope you'll miss me."

"Perhaps a little," John commented, trying desperately to hide the grin that was threatening to surface at Sherlock's murderous look.


	11. Curiousity

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The boy spent a curious amount of time shut up in his room. Well, to be entirely fair it was also Sherlock's room, but he was forced to relinquish residence when John saw fit to turn the lock. It was a rare day that he would allow either of his brothers entrance at such a time, and even Violet once or twice had difficulties entreating her son to allow her in.

Sherringford, however, had no such troubles. One fatherly tremor of his voice was enough to gain him entry, but whatever clue hinting of what John had been doing would be hastily hidden away. Nearly desperate with curiosity, Sherringford had once made Sherlock hide in the forest of his legs, hoping the boy with his infinitely skilled powers of observation would be able to catch a glimpse of something or other. But the plan was foiled quite thoroughly upon its first attempt, as Sherlock had not yet learned the art of keeping his deductions to himself. Even Sherringford was met with reluctance after that.

Mycroft was also rather curious, but not being a man of action he was not inclined to satisfy his interest by himself. That was why God had graced him with an otherwise annoying younger brother named Sherlock.

Promised a future instead of monetary gain, Sherlock was happy enough to oblige. When Violet had kidnapped John for yet another trip to market, the boy sifted through his unguarded little desk. The single oddity was a collection of balled up papers stuffed precariously in one of the drawers. These were the spoils that Sherlock brought to his older brother, vowing under his breath that he would see to it that one day Mycroft would do _his _dirty work.


	12. Skill and Disappointment

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The content of the papers was interesting to some extent. Mycroft was thankful that they were not very personal - despite his lack of compunctions regarding the art of snooping even he would have felt some measure of guilt had John's writings been such. In any case, it was not the content that truly ensnared his attention; it was the composition.

It was childish, to be sure, for a nine-year-old it was advanced. Mycroft had proofread enough of Sherlock's torturously meticulous school essays to recognize literary skill. There were lovely indications of a romantic streak, and John's handwriting was surprisingly clear for a young boy. Knowledgeable of the fact that he would not likely be in his brother's good graces for a while, Mycroft called for John just as soon as the boy returned from his shopping excursion.

The glare was to be expected; John looked far from pleased. He grappled for the papers and Mycroft quickly relinquished them, but stared intently at the boy to keep him rooted to that one particular spot on the carpet.

"Did you write those?"

John's face flushed with embarrassment, but nodded. "I'm glad you're the one that took them, at least," he mumbled. Had it been Sherlock the blackmail would have been unimaginable.

"They are very good."

Mycroft fought the urge to grin stupidly at the look of surprised hero-worship on his little brother's face.

"…do you think Sherlock might like them?"

Mycroft's blissful spirit fell a little, but he ignored the sudden disappointment. "Sherlock doesn't like much of anything, John."


	13. Fisticuffs

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Sherringford watched with amusement from the parlor window, his two youngest sons engaged in a very undignified and uncivilized wrestling match on the back lawn. He found the spectacle to be one of the most entertaining and wonderful things he had seen all week. There was something so much more innocent about grappling when it was children who engaged in it, instead of educated and suited adults.

John had a slight advantage over his brother, being more solidly built than his twig-like sibling. But Sherlock was a wiry fellow, weaving himself out of John's holds with relative ease.

"A shame Mycroft won't join them," Violet said as she brought her husband a tea tray, smiling when she beheld her children occupying themselve with fisticuffs.

"A blessing, I rather think. I don't want to lose the boys to suffocation or crushed limbs."

Violet made a show of displeasure, but a simpering laugh escaped her lips. She watched as John managed to pin Sherlock to the ground for a good minute before his brother's flailing limbs connected with his side, sending him tumbling sideways into the grass.

"I'm glad for those two," Sherringford said softly as Sherlock dragged John's leg out from under him, causing the boy to stumble forward. "John needed someone to bond with."

Violet nodded in agreement, running her hands along her husband's arm affectionately. "Sherlock as well. I've never seen him interact with someone so… freely."

Sherringford muttered something unintelligible in response, his eyes glazing over as John sent a kick to Sherlock's knee, who lunged forward to capture his brother in a playful cuff when he tried to run off.

"Sherringford?" Violet said, noticing his wandering gaze.

"Violet, John's been asking about Andrew."


	14. Guilt

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Sherringford always got too close to his work, and suffered immensely for it. Once again Violet let herself into his study to find him asleep amongst a bed of crumpled paperwork, his desk serving as a sorry pillow. She hardly had the heart to wake him, but knew that it was necessary for the prevention of a stiff neck and grumbling husband.

But he was not asleep, she discovered. He had tried, but it was beyond his feeble reach. He had settled for pretending, hoping the make-believe would suffice for reality.

"There's nothing, Violet. I've searched every record there is on his family - I've gone as far as Scotland! I even had Mycroft look into it. It's all gone, nothing to prove Andrew Watson existed. Not even a birth certificate. According to these papers, John never had a brother."

"Don't blame yourself," Violet breathed, eyes swimming with the sympathy she held for the fragile man.

"Who else is there to blame? I was the lawyer at that trial - I was supposed to put Moriarty behind bars! But I could never pin the devil, the evidence just wasn't there. I couldn't bring justice to John's parents, and now I can't find his brother."

Violet let Sherringford talk, watched him struggle with the overflow of emotions his work left him with. But it was always more than work to him, especially in this case. "You gave him a family. You adopted him."

Sherringford turned his face away, his words barely audible. "Out of guilt."

* * *

**A/N: My little foray into PGF's angst-a-thon.**


	15. A Most Engaging Dinner

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Supper was always the most interesting event of the day in the Holmes household. The whole of the family would be collected together in one room, a circumstance that was usually dreaded by any callers and was their true excuse for cordially refusing dinner invitations from Violet.

Conversation during the meal was always of an engaging sort, and occasionally the family would continue to talk long after all of the food had been eaten. John liked such occurrences, though during the inevitable playing of deduction games he would no longer participate, content to sit quietly with his father while Mrs. Holmes managed to put both of her highly intelligent blood sons to shame rather quickly.

On one such night, John happened to be especially tired, and the constant chains of reasoning had long since left his interest. In the middle of being thoroughly trumped by Mycroft, Sherlock turned his head to see his brother appearing to be in a complete state of exhaustion.

"Father," he said, hard-pressed to not smile, "Johnny's about to faint."

John jerked his head up, failing in his attempt to stare menacingly at Sherlock. "I told you not to call me Johnny," he mumbled incoherently.

Violet made to fetch her weary son, but Sherringford bid her to sit down. "I'll do it. Come along, John."

Sherringford nearly laughed at the way his tired son hobbled to his feet, and could not resist sweeping him up into his arms. It had been a long time since had done so to his other children - Sherlock had declared himself too old for such play at the age of five, and Sherringford's back had never borne poor Mycroft very well.

"Good night, Johnny!" Sherlock called, making his father smile at the light tones of affection in his voice.

"S'not Johnny…"


	16. A Wake Up Call

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Since being welcomed into the Holmes family and becoming accustomed to, and a part of, their inner workings, John had learned to be a deep sleeper. When living with his other family (his only manner of reference to them, and even it did not seem quite right or satisfactory) the merest noise could wake him up. Luckily the household had always been rather calm. It was not so with the Holmes, and after nearly a year of restless nights John could hardly be awakened by much of anything.

Not that such knowledge deterred Sherlock, however.

The aforementioned boy stole into his shared room, as quiet as could be. He stealthily fetched a pillow from his own bed before making his way to the sleeping form of his brother. He did not hesitate in lifting his arms and bringing them swiftly down, smothering John in the impact of downy ammunition.

But John did not even stir. Sherlock, confused, struck him again, albeit more softly. Again John remained still. His brother's eyes widened with a child's panic. "John?"

The silence scared him, and he was about to shake his brother senseless when a soft substance struck him in the face. Sherlock stared blankly at John, who was peeking sleepily through the coverlet.

"Sherlock?" he slurred, barely aware that he had tossed his pillow into his brother's face.

"My God, John! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did!"

John turned back into the blankets, sleep still weighing heavily on his eyelids. "Don't… you need a heart in the first place… for that to happen…?"

His brother frowned as he gathered up the pillows, contemplating whether or not he should even return John's. "You know you're right snarky when you're half asleep."

**A/N: This one's for KCS. One of her drabbles inspired it. Oh, and by the way - would you all mind terribly if I changed my name? I'm right sick of this one.**


	17. Framed

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

————————————————————————————————————

"That's it - I'm going to kill Sherlock."

Violet bundled herself further under the covers, pressing the bulk of them against her ears. "Be gentle, Sherringford. He's trying."

"He doesn't have to try at one o' clock in the morning!"

Sherringford went angrily from his bedroom, grumbling curses directed mostly at himself for allowing his wife to purchase that infernal violin for his son. At the time he had thought it a capital idea, certain to calm the overflowing amount of energy Sherlock seemed to contain. That theory had withered as soon as the boy took up the bow. He was a very eager player, and the scraping had hardly ceased all day.

Mr. Holmes threw open the door to the children's room, looking like death for the sleep he had lost. The spectacle effectively startled John - who was the one holding the violin.

Sherringford narrowed his eyes dangerously. "_Quiet_."

John nodded, swallowing dryly as his father disappeared back into the hallway. He turned wildly to Sherlock, who had crawled beneath his bed and was now standing tall with silent, shaking laughter. John shoved the instrument into his brother's hands, growling.

"Why'd you pawn it off on me?"

"Because Father's belt is an all too good acquaintance of mine. I knew he wouldn't do such a thing to you - you haven't gotten in trouble enough yet."

"Well, that's certainly not the case anymore!"

Sherlock snickered before climbing back into bed, leaving his brother to fume and plan a rather gruesome demise for him.


	18. Queen Anne's Revenge

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

The thrashing received in their last fight with the Holmes brothers had done little to dampen Will and Toby's spirits; the both of them had had far too many beatings in their lives to be phased by the fists of their rivals. John and Sherlock could not pass by their home without rocks flying their way, and so they made great use of alleyways. Will and Toby could only be deterred if Mycroft was present, and both of the portly boy's younger brothers were much too proud to ask him to serve as an escort.

But one particular day the troublemakers caught the two before they could follow their usual detour. Even Sherlock, with his highly acute powers of observation, could not rightly tell at first if the flush on Will and Toby's cheeks was from anger or the bitter winter cold.

He concluded it was anger after Toby took a swing at him.

He swung back, but Toby was too quick for him. John and Will engaged in their own private scuffle, John trying desperately to once again recall Sherlock's boxing lessons as Will threw punches and spouted foul language. Apparently he was none too happy with having been beaten by a clearly inferior peer.

Sherlock managed to pin his opponent to the snowy ground, grasping his shoulders in a tight grip. "What now, _Tobias_?" he snarled viciously.


	19. The Battle

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

**A/N: Guess who's back! Anyone miss me? I'm sorry I was gone for so long. School ate a good portion of my free time, and now that summer's here, I can get back to writing some good old fan fiction. However, it will likely be only _Dusk _and _Next of Kin _that I will be updating regularly. Most of my writing is being devoted to a personal project of mine, so _Arithmetic _will take longer for any updates. I'm sorry! In any case, enjoy what I can offer. Thank you!**

* * *

Tobias wriggled beneath Sherlock's grip, his eyes alight with the fire of his seriously wounded pride.

"I-I'm going to… trounce you!" he gasped as Sherlock pressed his knee to the boy's chest. Toby's eyes darted briefly to his cousin, all pride gone in a silent plea for help, but the other boy was rather preoccupied.

"You have a big mouth for someone who's getting trounced himself!" Sherlock spat in retaliation, looking very smug at Toby's situation.

John, however, was having his difficulties regarding Will. John had never been as skilled a fighter as his brother, and while his opponent was smaller than Toby, he was quick and nimble. He dashed about like a lizard, every breath bringing a long a fresh curse or spoken dagger.

His last insult hit the mark. John's face flushed with more than cold, and he shouted hoarsely at the top of his lungs. "Leave my family out of this!" He unconsciously looked towards Sherlock, who was watching Toby struggle beneath him with a great amount of amusement.

However, when John looked back towards his attacker, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his head, and before he could recover himself he was lying on the cold, wet ground. Will's snowball had concealed a hefty rock, and the projectile had done its work beautifully.

"You haven't got one!"


	20. The Journey Home

**_To The Inevitable Dusk_**

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk._ - Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

"John! John!"

The voice above him was frantic, more so than he had ever heard it. John forced his eyes to flicker open, finding the sharp features of Sherlock's face through the spots of dark, impenetrable color that decorated his vision. He groaned loudly as he tried to sit up; Sherlock eased him down, the panic not quite lost on his face.

"Are you alright?"

"I've got a headache."

Sherlock couldn't repress a small smile at his brother's tone of voice. "I would think so - you're bleeding."

John filed away this snippet of information. At the moment it didn't really concern him. "Where are they?"

A cold expression settled upon Sherlock, his eyes glinting with the remnants of his fury. "They scampered off. Will nearly got a rock to the head himself," he hissed, laughing sardonically at the memory. "Needless to say they'll be telling their mothers all about this, and soon the entire neighborhood will be talking about our bad upbringing."

John winced as he smiled, his head feeling as though someone had taken a hammer to it repeatedly. "Mum won't believe them, and neither will Father. They didn't last time."

"Yes, well, I'm still not thrilled about bringing you home. The sight of you will throw Mother into a right fit." The boy seemed to think for a moment, and then grinned, though it was not assured. "If you think you can make it through the dining room window, I can get us to Mycroft without being seen. Father is in town and Mother's no doubt chatting it up with a few more decent neighbors."

John wasn't fond of the thought of clambering through a window when he could barely see straight, but he would rather that than face the repercussions of meeting his parents. Sherlock helped his little brother to his feet, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders for fear that he would fall. John did sway quite a bit, but the hands guiding him home kept him steady enough.


	21. Medic

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

"Not again!"

It had been a difficult trip to Mycroft's room, and now Sherlock was beginning to wonder if it had been worth it at all.

"You're an _idiot_, Sherlock," Mycroft reprimanded, his arms laden with a number of cloths, his right hand expertly balancing a small water pitcher. He dipped a white towel into the water, then dapped it gingerly on John's head, trying to discern the amount of damage from all of the blood that was smeared across his little brother's face. "John - stay awake," Mycroft snapped, his nerves unsuitable for that of a gentle, caring nurse.

"He told me he was alright," Sherlock murmured, face flushed with something akin to shame, but he fought it off. "It wasn't my - our - fault! Will and Toby -"

"I _know_, Sherlock, I know!" Mycroft growled. "But John is _not alright_. He has a large gash in his head and it's going to need stitches. I can barely keep him up - John!"

It took but two moments for Sherlock to realize he was shaking. Mycroft's voice was so loud and tremulous, it was not entirely difficult to imagine mountains making way for him if he called them to do so. Sherlock looked at John - the cut on his temple stood out like a firebrand in his light, sandy hair, and he was pale enough to masquerade as a ghost. The little injured boy managed to catch his eye, and smiled, though it was the sort of smile that reminded Sherlock of their uncle when he visited during Christmas celebrations and had had just a bit too much to drink.

Mycroft wrapped up John's head as best he could, gathered the boy up in his arms, and made his way down the stairs, Sherlock following at his heels. He hadn't been able to protect John from Will, but he _could _make sure Mycroft didn't drop him or something.


	22. A Bullet

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

For the life of him Sherlock couldn't understand his little brother. Though he was semi-conscious for the entirety of the cab ride to the doctor's practice, he seemed almost excited about the trip. When he was actually in the presence of the doctor, the groggy, hardly understandable questions didn't stop. Sherlock personally hated doctors and couldn't fathom why getting stitched up like a piece of fabric was so appealing to John.

It was just him and Mycroft in the small waiting room, twiddling thumbs and playing deduction games about the man treating their little brother. After a while silence fell upon them, until Mycroft suddenly (or as suddenly as his bulky frame would allow) turned to Sherlock and grasped him by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," he said quietly, his voice firm but not entirely strong. "You'll forgive me if I let my emotions get the better of me."

"Why did you?" Sherlock questioned, more out of curiosity than anything else. He had never seen his older brother so flustered than when he had furiously tried to stem the bleeding from John's hurt, and it puzzled him immensely.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I'm not always to go to be there when you two get into a pinch. You know I'll be leaving home soon. Sherlock, you _have _to be smarter than you were today. God knows you and John will never stay out of trouble, but one day it won't be as simple as a rock hidden in a snowball. One day it'll be a bullet."


	23. Retaliation, As Demonstrated By a Lawyer

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

* * *

Try as they might, there really was no plausible way of hiding John's injury from Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock's suggestion of constructing a turban from their bedclothes had been thoroughly ignored.

Violet had arrived home long before her husband, and practically shrieked when she caught sight of her son's bandaged head. An hour later all had been revealed, but that didn't stop her motherly fretting. Sherlock was relieved to find she wasn't at all angry - not yet, anyway.

John was put to bed despite some very vocal protests, and Sherringford came home to three members of his family in the thick of plotting a way to conceal all that had happened. He was tired and haggard and Violet knew this. She detested seeing him come home in such unhappy sorts, and was sure the incident with the neighborhood boys would only bristle his spirits further. However, he managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, and after swift questioning that only a father and a lawyer could properly execute, he knew the whole extent of the matter.

"That's _it_," Sherringford growled in anger. He grabbed his coat and hat and headed towards the door. "I'm going to Scotland Yard."

"What for?" Sherlock asked as his father disappeared back into the city. "I thought he was going to go lick Will and Toby's parents or something." Not that he much liked that idea - the thought of having his battles fought for him never sat well with him.

Mycroft shook his head. "He'll be licking them in a different manner. He is a lawyer, after all - he'll find a bit of blackmail for both their parents at the Yard, and next term Will and Toby will be in boarding school."

Sherlock mulled this revelation over a moment, then scowled. "It's going to be deucedly boring around here."


	24. The Horn Section

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

**A/N: Based on a true event, which demonstrates what can happen when two dancers decide to give (comedic) voice to the fact the middle school band is playing in the next room over.**

**To my fellow Christian Sherlockians - I have a prayer request. My uncle is in the hospital preparing for a quadruple bypass and I'd dearly appreciate any prayers or thoughts for my family. Thank you!**

Mycroft could not have claimed any semblance of intelligence if he was not knowledgeable of the fact that John and Sherlock were a horrid combination together in public places, far surpassing all other children in their mischief. John was a placid enough child on his own, but Sherlock's company transformed into something else entirely (and Sherlock was horrid no matter what sort of company he kept, if he kept any at all). It was with this knowledge that Mycroft attempted to accost his parents, begging them to leave the 'hellish buggers' home with a guardian procured from the neighborhood's abundant stock of elderly women. His petitions were largely ignored, however, as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes gaily set about dressing up in their finest evening wear, eager to spirit their family off to the concert hall.

Sherlock was practically sparking with excitement, and Mycroft resisted the urge to sit on him as they settled into their chairs. John too was alight with the thrill of the evening - so long had he played sole audience to Sherlock's personal one-man concertos that it would be a right treat to listen to some proper music for once.

But it was far from 'proper', at least for one unfortunate horn player who was assembled in the very depths of the orchestra pit. Mycroft knew very little regarding music, but he was not tone deaf, and could tell there was something certainly off about the young man's playing. It was not a terrible bother to him, however, and he concentrated on the other musicians all the more.

Suddenly, a duet of rising notes drifted into his ears, but it wasn't from the pit. It was from the two clowns who had somehow wandered into his calm existence and were imitating the amateur horn player's sour tunes. He couldn't decide if they sounded more like dying kittens or better than the man they were mocking.


	25. Peter Pan Syndrome

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

Sherlock held no fear at the thought of growing up. In fact, he relished the idea, impatiently waiting for the day he would look in the mirror and be ten years older. He and John talked endlessly about what they would do when they were 'men', and Sherlock personally scoffed at any classmate who thought remaining a child was preferable. As an adult there was no one to look down on you, no one to tell you what was right and what was wrong. What was not to like about growing up and getting older?

"Hand me that valise, would you, John? No, the other one. Thank you. Blast, I forgot to pack another coat - nothing for it now, I don't want to reopen these suitcases," Mycroft said through an avalanche of unusually disheveled belongings, as he and his young brothers perused through his room, selecting the things most suitable for a university student. "John, do you want this set? I've enough books as it is."

No. There was nothing to dislike about growing up at all…


	26. Empty Nest Syndrome

_**To The Inevitable Dusk**_

_Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. _- Susan Scarf Merrell

**PRETEND THIS IS A LINE BECAUSE FF MESSED UP AGAIN ARGH**

Violet was inconsolable the first few days. Despite the presence of two additional sons and a husband who did his best to be a comfort, the sight of Mycroft's empty room was enough to flood the hallway carpet.

"I hate to see Mum like this," John solemnly commented to his brother, running a hand through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. "She's a wreck."

"There's nothing to be done for it, though. You know her, she won't come out of this for weeks, but she'll be alright after a while."

John narrowed his eyes in disapproval, and drew no small satisfaction from the sight of his surly brother withering under his gaze. "Sherlock, we must do something for her."

"You write her something then," Sherlock snapped in retort, averting his eyes from John's hazel-colored instruments of torture. "She likes your romantic yarns. Surely that will life here spirits."

John colored deeply before rising to leave his brother to his sour black musings, struggling to keep his rising temper smothered. He stopped at the door frame, watching Sherlock's irritated features before sighing deeply.

"You miss him too, don't you Sherlock?"

"Go to blazes, John."

"I thought as much."


End file.
